


Lure

by StarsGarters



Series: Growler [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Enthusiastic Consent, Fluff and Angst, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Summer Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-06
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-07 12:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1898319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarsGarters/pseuds/StarsGarters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brock Rumlow and Steve Rogers go on a much needed vacation. Fishing is attempted, feelings are confessed and lies are told. </p><p>No bears were hurt during the creation of this fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lure

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [Lure 诱惑](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2620235) by [xyoshiki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xyoshiki/pseuds/xyoshiki)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Соблазнение](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7554616) by [Saysly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saysly/pseuds/Saysly)



"So what are you doing for the 4th? Some kind of retrospective at the Smithsonian? Gonna lead some kids in the Pledge of Allegiance at the White House?" Brock Rumlow stowed away the last of his tactical gear in his locker at SHIELD headquarters. He smirked kindly. It was easy to rib the living embodiment of patriotism and American ideals who was standing next to him in the locker room. They were something more than teammates, something less than lovers.

Steve Rogers groaned and ran his hand through his blonde hair. Steve liked his hair played with, pulled even. Rumlow's fingers itched to wind themselves in those silky soft strands. "They changed it, you know?"

"The Pledge?" Rumlow smiled, he knew what was coming. Everyone knew. It had been broadcast, remixed, analyzed and been a meme on the internet. It was adorable and innocent, and even Rumlow had laughed at the time. 

"Yeah, they added in the Under God part to ferret out Communists in the fifties. Nobody bothered to tell me _that_." Rogers sat down on the bench and looked up with big blue eyes. Rumlow swallowed hard, remembering how those eyes looked staring at him in the dark of his bedroom, over the flat plane of his belly. "Do you know what it is like to be corrected by fifty first-graders? On live television?" 

"I bet Natasha got a good laugh out of that." 

"She did. She really did." Rogers shook his head and smiled, "Tony was worse. He sent me a t-shirt and a coffee cup with the Pledge on them, just so I could practice. The t-shirt has a little box that plays the Star Spangled Banner when you press it. Right here." Rogers put his hand over his heart and snorted. "Musical shirts. Never saw that coming."

"Kind of a dick move, but that seems like Stark." Rumlow shut his locker. "So no plans?"

"I'm a little tired of being in parades, but you know, you do what you gotta do. And I don't really have anywhere else to go." That loneliness was Steve's Achilles heel, always out of place and adrift in time. Rumlow wasn't sure if he was exploiting the asset's weakness or if he was genuinely touched by Rogers' humility and selflessness, but Rumlow was lonely too.

And _horny_. Very horny. Once you'd had the pleasure of fucking Captain America, well, you'd want to try for a repeat performance. After their first encounter, Rumlow had secretly nursed some deep bruises and aches that he'd never told a living soul about. He licked his lips. This wasn’t an officially sanctioned operation, Pierce would probably slap him silly, but Rumlow didn’t care. He knew the risks and they didn’t outweigh the potential pleasure or information he could gather. 

"Well then, you should come with me. I've got a cabin upstate. Close enough that if we need to deploy we can, but far enough out in the boonies that you won't have to deal with anything other than irate squirrels."

"What do you do up there?"

"I've got a boat. And fishing poles. My beer, of course. So the plan is usually to buy enough bait to look convincing and then feed the fish."

"Catch anything?" 

"Usually just duckweed. Once, I did piss off a bear. He got the fish, I was like fine, whatever buddy, _you_ take the fish!" 

"It's better to let the bear win."

"I dunno, if you're up there with me we just might tell the bear to fuck off."

"I'm not wrestling any bears, Brock."

"Alien warriors from another dimension and Asgardian gods, sure you'll punch them right in the face, but _bears_ are off limits?" Rumlow made a 'pfft' sound and rolled his eyes. "So it's settled. Just bring yourself and a good book that you've wanted to read and I'll bring my collection of Fleetwood Mac. The sound system isn't the best, but we'll make do."

"It sounds, _relaxing_." Steve looked up at him through those thick blonde eyelashes and Rumlow felt a familiar ache low in his gut. "It's a date." A date, huh? Excellent, Rumlow thought and made a mental note to pack the contents of his bedroom dresser drawer.

The cabin was farther upstate than Rumlow had led Steve to believe, but it was a relief to get away from the city for a while. Cool shadows of trees dappled the dirt road as they listened to Fleetwood Mac on the stereo. The edge of Rumlow's crossbody harness showed under his jacket. “I see you didn’t leave your gun behind.”

“Well, we’re in a dangerous line of work Cap and I’m a strong defender of the Second Amendment. Which is appropriate given today, right? _We the People_...” 

“That’s the Constitution, not the Declaration of Independence. I guess they don’t make kids memorize the Preamble anymore.” Steve looked out the window. 

“Not in any school I went to. Well, I didn’t really go to school that much. Surprise, surprise. You don’t have to have good grades to kill bad guys. They’d really prefer you didn’t think too much at all. Thinking makes you question things. Questions lead to subverting authority. That leads to rebellion. Still fits with today's date, I think. You wouldn't guess it, but I think about a lot of things Steve. A _lot_ of things.”

“But SHIELD was more interested in how many bulls-eyes I could get on the firing range than any of my test scores.” Rumlow adjusted the A/C a little colder, his late model pick up truck was loaded with his fishing gear and camping essentials. Everything was compactly packed and organized like a career soldier’s gear would be. “And you brought your shield with you. You know that thing is literally priceless, with all the vibranium in it. And you just fling it around, a very efficient frisbee of death.” 

“It has sentimental value too.” 

“I bet. Did you notice that we’ve got a tail?” Rumlow adjusted the rearview mirror.

Steve nodded. “Yep. About 5 miles back. Sorry. It’s probably my fault.” People were always following him. Usually the media, sometimes over zealous fans, occasionally enemies of the state. 

“Sure, sure. It’s not like I haven’t done my fair share of things that shall remain classified. And that was just last week.” Rumlow laughed and Steve joined in. “Don’t worry, I’ll lose them. I take my privacy _very_ seriously.”

A few hairpin turns and switchbacks and they were alone again. “That was some crazy driving Brock. Glad I don’t get motion sickness.” 

“Heh. I've driven these roads so many times sometimes I feel like I need to make new ones. Check in the glove compartment.”

Steve opened the bin and took out a beautifully wrapped small gift, topped with a red, white and blue bow. “Happy Birthday, Big Guy. When they told me that you were actually born on the 4th of July, I thought they were fucking with me.” 

“You shouldn’t have--” Steve held the gift in his large hands and looked curiously at it. "Gosh, I haven't celebrated my birthday since Bucky and I--" Steve swallowed and Rumlow casually punched him in the shoulder with no real force.  

“Now now, quit getting sappy, just open it.”

Steve slit the tape open with his thumbnail and unwrapped the gift carefully, saving the paper for reuse out of habit. He ran his fingers over a leather-bound sketchbook with thick creamy paper. The cover was embossed with a single five-point red star. A matching brown leather pouch was filled with pencils, pens and erasers. “Thank you, I wasn’t expecting anything...”

“Oh you never do. That’s what makes it so much fun to surprise you. You’re always doodling on stuff like operation reports and you’re really good at it. So I had it made by this guy who has a table at the Saturday Market.”

“Why the red star?”

Rumlow was quiet for a moment and then he quickly covered by rapping his knuckles against the shield that was behind their seats. “Why this of course. He didn’t pay attention and got the color wrong and there wasn’t any time...” 

“I love it. Thank you.” Rogers reached over and squeezed Rumlow’s thigh, a more intimate gesture than he usually would give. 

“Well I figured that you might really suck at fishing, so you could just _draw me like one of your French girls_.” 

Steve laughed, they’d watched Titanic the other night when Rumlow had taken over the main SHIELD lecture hall and commandeered the AV system, so Steve got the reference, but he didn’t move his hand. “Did you make me watch that film, just so that you could make that joke?”

Rumlow licked his lips and cleared his throat. “ _Maybe_. But I’m not admitting to anything. Not even under torture.” 

“I was wondering why you’d picked that movie because of all the people dying in icy, cold iceberg infested water. You know, _freezing_ to death? I might be very sensitive about the whole thing, Rumlow.” Rogers burst out into laughter, unable to keep a straight face. 

“I was gonna say, I know where exactly you’re sensitive, Rogers and you don’t talk about that in polite company.” Rumlow leered and pulled into a side trail that was barely a deer track. “Good thing neither of us are polite, right?” 

They pulled up beside a modest cabin, rough hewn and simple. Wordlessly, Rumlow gestured towards it in STRIKE team signs and Steve nodded. They approached the building as they would any target, clearing the perimeter and looking for traps. It was second nature, what they would do on any mission. Steve took point with his shield and when they entered the cabin, he looked about and said, “Clear!” 

Rumlow shook his head and pulled out a matte black object with flashing LEDs, he adjusted the dials and swept the room with it. It started to beep when he passed a small picture frame and Rumlow pulled a tiny listening bug from the backing. 

“I am on VACATION!” He bellowed into the device and then crushed it under his booted heel. “Sorry about that.”

“That looks like one of Natasha’s anti-surveillance gadgets. She doesn’t give those away.” 

“She doesn’t.” Rumlow grinned at Steve and then winked. “Come on, let’s unpack. There might even be more presents.” 

“It can wait. I like to say thank you properly.” Steve leaned down and kissed Rumlow on the lips, cradling Rumlow’s stubbled cheek in his hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Rogers.” Rumlow huffed out his breath in a whoosh. “Okay. It just got a lot harder to walk, thanks for that. And _dude_ , we’ve got all weekend. Pace yourself.” 

Steve smiled, a little disappointed, but gestured towards the door. “Lead the way, commander.” 

“Just give me a moment to think about baseball, okay?” Rumlow grumbled. 

“I could carry you if you’re incapacitated. I’ll go first, but don’t stare at my ass. Okay?” Steve teased. 

Rolling his eyes skyward, Rumlow moaned, “I’m not going to get any fishing done, am I?” 

Lazing about in the boat, Steve dipped his hand in the water and watched cool drops drip from his fingertips as he lifted them. The rod and reel in his other hand hadn't so much as bobbled. If there were any fish in this lake, they were taking a nap. Just like Rumlow was.

Rumlow had a large hat flopped on his face and the rod was laying across his thighs, he snorted awake when Steve nudged him with a foot. "What!? I was just resting my eyes."

"We've been out here for three hours and I think the worms are dead. I haven't seen any bears and there's a squad of SHIELD security agents hiding in the reeds over there."  

"Lovely. Hand me that creel, would ya?" Rumlow dug in the wicker basket and pulled out a flash bang grenade. "I brought fireworks. God bless America." 

"Look, you can't do that. They're on our side."

"Really?" Rumlow looked at Steve flatly and then heaved the grenade with a mighty toss. The snapping boom and light scared the birds from the trees and the small team stood up in the reeds and ripped off their listening devices, rubbing their eyes. 

"I. AM. ON. _VACATION_!" Rumlow yelled. "And you've frightened off all the fish! Tell Fury that I don't appreciate this! And go back to tailing school you bunch of fucking _amateurs_! You're all going to get yourselves killed being that sloppy! AND THAT IS AN ORDER!"  Steve watched in bewildered amazement as the team slunk off in sulky shame, throwing back dagger-sharp looks at Rumlow. "Don't _make_ me come over there!"   

"See, I didn't hurt them. And they do need to get better training. I'll be sure to offer some _special_ lessons when we get back. Bunch of green morons the whole lot of them." Rumlow slipped the hat back down his face, leaned back and got comfortable. It only took minutes before he was snoring again. Steve shook his head in amusement and got out his new sketchbook, he began to draw. 

"Does my nose really look like that?" Rumlow squinted at the drawing in the sketchbook as Steve stirred the mac and cheese on the stove. He turned on the portable stereo and Stevie Nicks’ voice crooned in the background. 

_Listen to the wind blow_

_Watch the sun rise_

_Run in the shadows_

_Damn your love_

_Damn your lies_

"When you're leaning back and snoring, yes. Yes it does, Old Man." 

"Pfft. You don't look a day over ninety-three Rogers." One last sweep of the anti-surveillance device turned nothing up, Rumlow had been concerned that the squad might have rebugged the cabin. Steve plated the dinner and set the table, then sat down.

"Why are you so worried about people listening to you? You're not doing anything wrong." Steve licked his fork, a unconsciously sensual motion. Rumlow looked at him with unmistakable desire and something darker flickering in his eyes. 

"Maybe I have _secrets_. Deep, dark hidden secrets that could destroy the world. Secrets that could unmake a man, unmake a nation." Slyly, Rumlow stood up and leaned down to whisper in Steve's ear, "Maybe I don't want them to hear all the filthy things I want to you tonight, Captain. Maybe I want what ever depravity I moan against your cock to be ours alone. No one else gets to hear that little whimper you make when I do this." Rumlow licked a stripe up Steve's neck and nibbled on his earlobe. Steve dropped his fork with a clatter on the table. "There it is. There's the whimper. God I love it when you do _that_." Rumlow pressed Steve's hand against his crotch. "See how hard you make me? How much I want you? Why would I want to share that with anyone but you?" 

Steve's nimble fingers undid Rumlow's fly and jeans button, "That is some persuasive reasoning Brock. Very, very persuasive." He massaged the lump in Rumlow's boxers, molding the fabric with his fingers. "Is this one of my birthday presents too?" 

"Just for the weekend, Big Guy. Just for the weekend." Rumlow wound his fingers in Steve's hair, just like he'd been craving. Steve painted the light blue fabric with wet kisses and an eager tongue. “There’s a great word for what we have here, _fuckbuddies_.” 

"You say that like it’s something newly invented. I noticed how discreet you are, Brock. Of course, can't have any dissent in the ranks can we?" 

"Trust is very important to me. And like I give a fuck what the boys think. Half of 'em worship you from afar and want to lick your boots anyway."

"Only half?" Steve took the length of Rumlow's cock into his throat and suckled until Rumlow groaned. He pulled Steve’s head back with a fist full of hair, afraid that he’d spill too early if that marvelous tongue kept beating against his cock.

"God, what you can do with your throat, that's-- _sinful_! Jesus Christ! Where did you learn how to do that?" His breath was ragged and raw, he looked down at Captain America with both lust and awe in his eyes.  

"Brooklyn. Lots of practice in France, of course.” Steve licked the tip of Rumlow’s cock, swirling his tongue. “So do you want me to stop?"

Rumlow cursed a string of nonsense syllables under his breath and thrust his hips forward. “No, no, don’t stop damn you.” Steve’s eyes sparkled and he slathered Rumlow’s cock wetly with his tongue, then sucked and licked until the STRIKE leader shuddered and spurted. A dribble of semen leaked from the corner of Steve’s lips and Rumlow wiped it away with his thumb as Steve swallowed.  

“Our dinner is getting cold.” Steve remarked mildly and licked his lips with a wet pink tongue. 

“I’ve decided that I’d rather have dessert. Before I fucking pass out.” 

“Little weak in the knees? Pace yourself Old Man, we’ve got all weekend.” It was a lightly mocking tone, but Steve was obviously enjoying himself.

“Shut it!” Rumlow pulled up his pants with as much dignity as he was able and grabbed a handful of Steve’s shirt. He kissed Steve hard, enjoying the lingering taste of his seed. Tongues dueled and Rumlow straddled Steve’s legs, sitting on his lap. He ran his hands up and down Steve’s face. “Do you even have to shave, Rogers?”

“Not once since the serum. Was a bit of a babyface even before. You’re like kissing a scrub brush Brock. _I like it_. Reminds me of...” Steve cut off his thought and looked down at the floor lost in a memory and ashamed of bringing it up.

“Thinking about another guy with _my_ tongue in your mouth. I am _wounded_ Big Guy. Wounded.” Rumlow worried Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth and chuckled warmly. “Who’s the special guy? Do I need to do a background check? Put that posse of green dolts to work as his security detail? I’d hate for you to fall for an enemy agent.”

“That’s... disturbingly sweet Brock, but no. He’s been dead a long time.”

“Ah, well let me do my best to distract you from old memories.”

“See, that’s the problem. For you, my life is ancient history. The stuff you read in textbooks and in museums. For me... it’s barely been a _year_. If that. I was asleep for so long, I guess I haven’t had time to grieve, not with the destruction of H.Y.D.R.A. or New York...” Rumlow stiffened a bit in Steve’s arms. “What’s wrong?” 

“You come with me Steve Rogers.” Rumlow stood, reluctantly extracting himself from Steve’s massive arms. “That’s an order.” 

“Yes, sir?” Steve followed Rumlow as he led him to the surprisingly comfortable futon. Rumlow converted it to a bed, threw a few blankets and pillows on it. He slapped the futon and drew Steve down with him. He propped himself up with his arm and a pillow.

“Now Captain, you’re going to tell me everything about that man you loved so much until you can’t think of anything else to say. There’s no one else listening, I’ve made _damn_ sure of that. And I’m not much for fancy words or sympathy, but I’m a damn good listener and I don’t think you’ve opened up to anyone in...”

“Decades. Decades is the word. And if I run out of things to say about Bucky, then I’ll probably start talking about Peggy.” Steve laid his hands on his chest and sighed. “She was _amazing_ back then.”

“Now that I’ll listen to, I’ve seen pictures of her in her prime and _damn son_ , you had good taste.”   

“You mean I _have_ good taste.” Steve kissed Rumlow tenderly on the forehead. “Thanks Brock.” 

“Thank me later. I intend to take ruthless advantage of you in a few hours. Ruthless, I say. I even brought new presents, there’s one thing this era excels in that I bet you haven’t taken into consideration.” Rumlow stripped off his shirt and wriggled out of his pants, clad in his boxers, then made himself comfortable.

“And what is that, Brock?” 

“Lubrication technology. Oh yeah. I went there.” Brock punched Steve on the shoulder and then folded his hands, waiting. 

“Well, Happy Birthday to me!” Steve laughed. “But I can’t do that to you Brock. These are my problems and I shouldn’t burden you with them.” 

“Then I’m taking a nap and you wake me up when you feel like exploring the wonderful world of silicone lube.”

 

Steve’s face was mashed against the futon and Rumlow fucked him with long slow strokes. Rumlow traced the outline of a five point star on Steve’s arm and smiled a predatory grin. Then he raked his teeth down the pale flesh of Steve’s back, just to feel the shudder that coursed through the Captain’s body. He reached beneath Steve and with a slippery fist, jacked his cock with firm, determined strokes. That whimper, that soft mewling whimper as Steve gave in to bliss and sprayed all over the sheets pushed Rumlow over the edge and he came a second time.

After cleaning up, Steve began to tell Rumlow everything about Sergeant Bucky Barnes. And after the words ran dry and the tears did as well, he spoke about Agent Peggy Carter. And then Thor, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha and Clint. 

Rumlow listened to it all, with nary a drooping eyelid or a yawn. He was indeed a very good listener. Pierce would be so grateful for this new intelligence. And since he was very discreet he’d only whisper a few things into the Winter Soldier’s ear the next time he was defrosted. A few specific memories to make that blank doll face spark with recognition and become a shadow of his former self. Because Steve Rogers wasn’t the only man who enjoyed fucking James “Bucky” Barnes.

**Author's Note:**

> And if you don't love me now  
> You will never love me again  
> I can still hear you saying  
> You would never break the chain.
> 
> Listen to the wind blow  
> Down comes the night  
> Run in the shadows  
> Damn your love  
> Damn your lies
> 
> Break the silence  
> Damn the dark  
> Damn the light
> 
> \-- The Chain lyrics copyright Fleetwood Mac
> 
> Comments are so gratefully appreciated.


End file.
